The Last Song of Me

Chapter 3: The Show Goes On

Recap: I held my pencil tightly, the tips of my fingers going white, and started with a word. LOVE. It’s an ambiguous term that has many interpretations. I started to think of one thing that I never got to have. A GOODBYE. Then, if I could have one wish…I wouldn’t ask for a million more wishes. I would want her back, even if it were for one more day, one more hour, a little less pain to endure, a lot less not knowing…

A couple weeks later…

    The sight of morning rose over the dark clouds. Crimson red and orange peered though the gaps in the sky. I sat outside on the balcony adjacent to my living room. I just stared at the sunrise, guitar in hand, and no inspiration. None at all.

   To me it seemed that I hadn’t written anything in months, but in reality it has been only a couple weeks. With no school to worry about since the summer started, my mornings all began the same way. To some it may seem like insanity, you know, since the definition is a repetition of an act in hope for a different result.

    With my luck, I would be going insane, but then again, sanity brings confusion, and confusion is just a pastime. I can’t waste my time being completely sane. Everybody has those sleepless nights, and early mornings. Or those days where your deprivation of sleep turns into being delusional the next day. I think my friends and I have made that point quite clear almost everyday for the past few years. It’s called the “IB” syndrome, where people brag of who got the least amount of sleep, where you beg your teachers to buy your soul for a decent grade on an impossible assignment, and where every moment counts in the competition of who’s going to be valedictorian. That’s what drives me insane…

    I finished my morning task of skeptically observing the beautiful sunrise, and went back inside to eat my breakfast. I whipped up some of my famous cinnamon waffles, knowing Luke would want some when he would eventually rise from the dead at a ridiculous hour of noon or so.

   My dad left me a note on the countertop reminding me that a new family was moving in the apartment building and that I had to drop off this welcoming basket he bought for them. “Ok dad.” I said nonchalantly to no one with a slight roll in my eyes. My hand felt the coldness of the granite as I put back down the note on the island. The silence in my house sometimes felt unsettling but it’s something I’ve gotten used to now, when Luke was quiet, which is practically only when he sleeps. Thank god for the long days of summer.

    Believe it or not, I actually had plans for tonight, something I haven‘t had in a couple weeks. I was going to go to this open-mic night at the local teen center. Usually there are some really great local acts, and then you know, those wannabe pop-stars who can’t carry a tune for their life. I’m not going to call myself the singer either but at least I can hit the notes. That’s what I get for being in music in school. After I ate I popped in my earbuds, put my ipod on shuffle, and started rocking out all around the 3-bed apartment. I danced like no one was watching, and had more fun than I’ve had in awhile.

    I barely heard the loud noise of a moving truck pulling into the below parking lot. Shuffling through my closet, I picked out a simple graphic tank top and black shorts, my usual summer wear. Since I can’t necessarily drive, I’m home all day. My pastime is making music or researching something science-related.

      I turned on the shower and stood underneath the water droplets that touched my skin. The warmth of the steam produced made me radiate with some energy as I started to belt out a couple lines from Breakeven by The Script. My tendency to sing in the shower makes time fly by quickly. I could spend all day in there. The sound I hear coming from my mouth deceives me, I don’t believe I’m any good, although my dad says otherwise. He biased by all means. My brother says I suck, so I take his word over my dad’s, because I think I want to hear what’s coming out of Luke’s mouth more. It seems crazy, but that’s part of being a teenager.